


Valkyrie

by chibipooh



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Family Dynamics, Loss of Parent(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2065533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibipooh/pseuds/chibipooh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owain wasn't sure about many things in his chaotic life, but one thing he was sure about was that, for better or for worse, Cynthia would never cease to amaze him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valkyrie

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea inspired by Severa and Cynthia's conversation in the Harvest Scramble DLC where Severa comments on how much Sumia's death changed her daughter. Owain and Cynthia are somewhere around 6-7 in this first part, though they probably don't sound like it since writing children isn't one of my strong points. As always, feel free to leave a comment!

Young Owain of House Ylisse often found himself upset by his friends’ lack of interest in his hobbies. No, ‘upset’ wasn’t quite the right term. Try ‘completely and utterly distraught .’ Why was it that he was expected to listen to all of Laurent’s boring lectures on elementary spells and suffer through hours of Inigo going on about girls, but the second he wanted to talk about legendary battles everyone tuned him out? It hardly seemed fair. 

It might have been that growing up in a warzone had turned his friends off from reading more battles, but it had the opposite effect on him. Since he was too young to join his mother and father out in the real battles, Owain had to make due with the ones that resided in his books. Owain devoured the stories like they were his life’s blood. Recollections of the Hero-King and his valor, stories of justice triumphing over even the strongest of evils, tales of loves so pure that they transcended death itself- he adored them all. The brave warriors may have met their ends on the battlefield, but they lived once more within the yellowed pages of the books he flipped eagerly in his chubby little hands. 

Owain was sure that if his friends just gave the stories a chance, they’d be enamored with the lore as much as he was. Thus he began injecting the tales into everything he did, bringing them up at every opportunity and even speaking like a war hero. Needless to say, it passed over with mixed results among the rest of his generation (mixed results meaning he could barely open his mouth without a glare and a “I swear to the gods Owain if you talk about the Battle of Whistling Brooke ONE MORE TIME-”) It wasn’t quite the reaction he was going for, but what kind of hero would he be if he gave up so easily? 

“Did you know that in a far off land, there’s a legend about pegasus knights who escort those who fall in battle to a special heaven just for heroes?” Owain exclaimed, his hands flailing the way they always did when his mouth moved faster than his body. “They call them the valkyries.”

“Mhmm, that’s nice,” replied Cynthia absentmindedly. Owain frowned. He and Cynthia had been the lucky pair to not have any chores that night and as such had been banished to the small clearing that doubled as playpen and training grounds for all the children so as not to get in anybody’s way back at camp. Truth be told, Owain would have preferred almost anyone else’s company over Cynthia, even baby Morgan’s, and he was barely old enough to talk! Sumia’s daughter cared about nothing but clothes and dolls and putting clothes on dolls- basically, everything Owain detested. But with his father busy helping mend armor and his mother off with the current expedition party and all his other friends occupied with their various duties, Owain had no one better to spend his time with. He crossed his arms and huffed. 

“Are you even listening to me?” demanded Owain. Cynthia looked up from the doll’s hair she’d been brushing, her own copper hair glinting in the light of the dying sun. 

“Uh-huh, yeah! Pegasus knights and vitamins and whatever.” 

“ Valkyries,”  stressed Owain. “Honestly, you of all people should find them super cool.” 

“Why should I care about some fake fairy tale knights when I live with the real deal?” asked Cynthia. “I bet my mom or Captain Cordelia could take any of your valkyries down with their eyes closed.”

“They could not!”

“Could to!”

“Could not!” 

“Could to!” 

Owain threw up his hands in frustration. “Whatever!” There was just no use arguing with her. Cynthia stuck her tongue out at him and turned her attention back to her toy. He was just about to admit defeat and go sulk in his tent until the dinner call, when he noticed a practice sword lying in the dust, probably a leftover from one of Lucina and Kjelle’s sparring matches. Owain picked up the sword and brandished it in Cynthia’s direction. 

“Let’s play a game. I’ll be the dashing hero who swoops in to save the day-” He twirled the weapon with a dramatic flair. “-and you can be the hideous Risen.” Cynthia pulled a face. 

“I don’t want to play,” she announced, turning her back to him. Breaking out into a wide grin, Owain made his move. 

“Thou should know better than to point your rear towards an enemy!” he shouted. More by pure luck than any actually swordsmanship, Owain’s sword hit Cynthia right on the shoulder. She staggered, dropping her doll to the ground. 

“Hey, quit it, Owain! I said I don’t want to play!” she yelled.  

“Grave mistake, you foul creature! Now, taste my steel!” 

Owain lunged forward. Cynthia barely managed to dodge the tip of the foam lined practice sword, but the movement was too sudden and she fell backwards as a result. A cloud of dust rose up as her butt hit the ground. She blinked for a few dazed seconds, then gazed down at her legs, a layer of fine brown dirt covering them.

“OWAIN!” she screamed. The boy gave a bemused smile, but lowered his sword. 

“What calamity alarms you now, o undead one?” 

“Stop talking like that! Look what you did to my dress, you big dummy!” Owain didn’t see what the big deal was; he’d gotten worse stains on the walk to the bathing tent. But Cynthia looked like she was about to break down in tears and if there was one thing Owain couldn’t handle, it was crying girls.

“Oh come on, Cynthia,” said Owain, dropping to his knees beside the girl, heroic pretense gone. “It’s just a dress. You’re not even hurt.” The girl pulled herself to her feet, her little hands curled into fists at her side, crumpling up the already disheveled fabric. 

“My Daddy just bought me this and now it’s all ruined and it’s all your fault. I told you I didn’t want to play war! And why do I always have to be the Risen?” Despite her small stature, the girl’s voice was loud and only escalating in volume. Owain glanced over his shoulder worriedly. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, just keep it down, would you?” The last thing he needed was another scolding from Maribelle for acting in such an uncouth manner towards a young lady. The last one had hurt enough. Cynthia hmphed at him, glaring daggers that would have intimidated even the most hardened of foes. Owain sighed. 

“How about you get to be the Pegasus Knight during the next round and I’ll be the enemy,” he tried to reason, but Cynthia only shook her head. 

“I’m not playing.” To emphasize her point she sat down on the ground once more, her fears of dirt seemingly forgotten. Owain shot her a dirty look, but Cynthia simply folded her arms and glared back. 

“You’re not gonna last an hour out on a battlefield if you can’t even handle one little play fight.”

“Then I’m never gonna go out on a battlefield.” Owain stared at her as if she had sprouted a third arm. 

“What about the stupid spear you’ve been making? What are you going to use it for if you don’t fight,” he demanded. The sun had set now, and it was probably time for them to be heading back to the main camp, but neither of them moved.

“That’s different,” said Cynthia, shaking her head. “That’s a special project for me and Mama to do together. And it’s not stupid!” 

The two glared at each other. This was not the first fight they’d had and Owain doubted it would be the last. Their mothers were exceptionally close, more like sisters than mere friends, yet at that moment, Owain could not think of anyone he disliked more than Cynthia. Finally he huffed, pulling back. 

“Go get yourself eaten by a Risen then, see if I care!”

“And see if I care when you trip all over your stupid ego!”

“Fine!” 

“Fine!” 

From somewhere beyond the trees, a horn blared. Both children turned in unison, eyes wide. The first blast was long and low and was immediately followed by two shorter higher blasts. That combination could only mean one thing. Turning on heel, Owain sprinted towards camp, his heart in his throat. 

Owain found the camp alive with the hustle and bustle that always accompanied the return of a party. Hugs were exchanged and kisses given as soldiers reunited with the families they had left behind. He passed by them all, focused on finding one person in particular. 

Being as short as he was, Owain couldn’t see over the heads of most of the people who were surrounding the returning party. He wanted to shout, but he doubted he could be heard. He turned and turned, but the one person he was looking for still evaded his gaze. His heart beat in his ears, its erratic rhythm blocking out all else. 

Suddenly, the idea of dying in battle didn’t seem so glamorous. 

Owain pushed rather rudely past Severa’s reunion with her father, not even turning around when she yelled at him. There were so many people around, but he felt more alone than he’d ever felt in his life. In his frenzy, Owain passed by Aunt Sumia’s pegasus wandering into camp without her rider, which was odd; the woman almost never left her steed’s side. But the strangeness was forgotten the moment he saw a familiar flash of yellow. 

“Mommy!” 

He was probably too old to be calling her ‘mommy’, but Owain didn’t care. She was here safe and she was unhurt and that was all that really mattered. “Unhurt” might have been a bit generous though. Lissa had taken a large knock to the head, which bled slightly through her bandage, and her dress looked like it had met the wrong side of a halberd, but the arms that wrapped around the small boy’s frame were no less strong than they’d been the day she left. 

“You’re back! You’re back!” Arms circling around her neck, Owain buried his face into the crook of his mother’s shoulder. Lissa gave a small, tired back. 

“I told you I’d always come back to you.”  

If Owain had his way, he would have never let go, but all things had to end. As gently as she could manage given her wounds, Lissa lowered him to the ground and unwound his arms from her neck. The euphoria of the reunion had faded slightly and Owain could now see that there were more lines on her face than there had been before she left. He gently placed a hand on her cheek and she leaned into her son’s warm palm. Owain was about to say something, but then he remember the pegasus. 

“Mommy, where’s Auntie Sumia?”

At the same time, a voice behind him asked, “Where’s Mama?”

Lissa tried to pull her son into her skirts, but it was too late. Owain twisted around to see Cynthia standing by her mother’s pegasus, large brown eyes staring up at the animal. She regarded it curiously, eyes glancing over the blood on its side. “Where’s Mama?” she repeated. Owain wasn’t sure if Cynthia genuinely expected an answer, but she got one when the horse bowed its head before her, eyes downcast. Cynthia’s own eyes went wide.

“No…No! A Pegasus is always supposed to stay with her rider!” She grabbed the beast’s reins, pulling hard. “How could you leave her behind? How could you!”

In a flash, Cynthia’s father was by her side, scooping her up in his arms. Gaius muttered something to his young daughter, stroking her hair, but she struggled wildly in his arms.

“We have to go after her! Papa, let me go! They left her behind, they left behind Mama and we have to go after her! Let me go! Mama! MAMA!”

The whole camp went still. Cynthia was completely hysterical now, her words unintelligible through the stream of mucus and tears pouring down her face. Slowly the fight seeped out of her and she clung to her father weakly, repeating one word over and over again: “Mama…Mama…”

Cordelia stepped towards the father-daughter pair with a lance that wasn’t her own and a pained look on her face. She whispered something towards Gaius and a dark look passed over the thief's face, completely unlike his usual carefree expression. Gaius nodded, shifting his still sobbing daughter to one arm so that he could receive his wife’s lance. Then the three of them walked off, Cynthia’s cries still ringing through the camp.

Something wet fell on Owain’s forehead. He looked up to see tears falling from his mother’s eyes. It was the first time he had ever seen her cry.

Dinner that night was a somber affair. Cordelia eventually returned for the meal, but neither Cynthia nor Gaius showed. No one had to ask where they were.

The death of a comrade always hit the Shepherds hard, but there was an extra layer of grief for someone as well loved as Sumia. Aunt Olivia burst out crying right at the table and Uncle Chrom excused himself midway through the meal without even bothering to clear his plate. Lissa didn’t even care that Owain pushed his veggies around on his plate instead of actually eating them. No one was in the mood to eat that night.

Owain hadn’t known Sumia all that well, but she had been one of the few who actually listened to his many tales, always knowing just the right moment to add an emphatic “oooh!” or “good gods!” He wanted to say something, anything to Cynthia, but he was probably the last person she wanted to see at the moment.

The conversation they’d had right before the horrible news kept replaying over and over in his mind. How could he have said those things to her? The small amount of food he’d actually been able to eat turned over in his stomach and suddenly Owain feared he would vomit right there. Shaking hard, he put down his fork and managed to swallow down the bile. Just when he thought he’d gotten his body under control, the boy let out a sob. A warm arm circled around his shoulders.

“I know, Owain. I know,” murmured Lissa. Owain said nothing, just clung to his mother, fighting back tears. 

The horrible meal finally came to an end. Normally after a meal the Shepherds would hang around the main tent, discussing tactics and catching up with one another on the day’s events, but everyone dispersed almost immediately. Owain headed back to the small tent he shared with his parents, more than ready to be done with the day.

Usually quite the talkative couple, Lissa and Donnel barely spoke as they got ready for bed. Owain wanted to ask his parents to read him a story as the did every night, but the words died in his throat. Just as they were about to blow out the candle and call it a night, Owain suddenly exclaimed, “Don’t go.” His parents looked at him curiously, eyes red and tired.

“Don’t go where, Owain?” asked Donnel, and it broke Owain’s heart to hear the pure exhaustion in his father’s voice.

“Don’t go to battle ever again. Stay here with me where it’s safe and we can all be together. Don’t go back out there.” His parents shared a look.

“Owain, sweetie,” began his mother, reaching a hand out towards him, “You know we can’t do that. We have an obligation as Shepherds and as members of the royal family to-”

“I don’t care about our obligations!” Owain pulled away from his mother’s grasp. “I don’t want to be like Cynthia! I don’t want to lose you!”

“Ya know nothing’s gonna happen to us, not between my axe and yer ma’s staffs,” reassured Donnel, but Owain just shook his head, his eyes burning.

“I bet Cynthia’s mom promised her the same thing before she left. Don’t make a promise you can’t keep!”

His parents didn’t respond. Despite his best efforts to hold them back, the tears fell once more. Owain quite honestly couldn’t remember what happened after that. He must of cried himself to sleep sometime between his parents pulling him into a tight three person hug and the final candle being blown out, because it was pitch black when a sound outside of the tent jolted him awake.

Clutching his blanket to his chest, Owain’s thudded in his chest nervously as a shadow moved towards the door of their tent. Just as he considered diving for his father’s axe and hoping for the best, the flap opened.

There stood Cynthia, moon framing her head like a halo. Her long, luscious locks were gone, replaced by a ragged cut that barely reached her chin. Her face was streaked with what seemed to be mud and tears and her feet were bare and dirt smeared. Owain sniffed. 

“Cynthia?” he asked, his body relaxing slightly. “What do you need?” 

“Owain,” she said. Her voice reminded him of freshly sharpened steel, continuously bent but never broken. Her eyes met his and the look she gave him burned to his very core. “Teach me to play war.”

 


End file.
